


Bounty Hunter

by kawtharamelia



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, BBC Sherlock - Freeform, Bounty Hunter, F/M, Gen, OC profiler/bounty hunter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-04-10
Packaged: 2017-10-28 15:09:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/309188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kawtharamelia/pseuds/kawtharamelia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft and Lestrade have a common friend other than Sherlock, and Sherlock doesn't like her. Amelia is called in to help find Moriarty. She's worked with Mycroft before in order to help Sherlock, and she's tried to stay away, but she was pulled back in.</p><p>One thing is for sure, Amelia can handle herself, no matter what the others think.</p><p>Sherlock/OC eventually.</p><p>[Since the response here is lacking, I've sort of given up, but I have a few more chapters written. Let me know if you want more.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Mycroft studied the girl who stood with her back to him, staring out at the scenery of London. He had called her in because he was, though he wouldn't admit it, stuck. He had worked with her briefly when she was just starting out, but even then she got the job done. It had taken some time to find her again, but once he caught her scent, he grabbed her and pulled her up into the building that was his office.

"Amelia, don't you want to know what I need?"

She half-turned, a smile ghosting across her face, and spoke, "Mycroft, I already know, and I'll gladly help seeing as I've been following him for some time."

He hesitated, not expecting that. "Oh?"

"He has a whole empire, and has gained many enemies. So, yes, I've been hired to find him before."

"By?"

Amelia waved her hand, turning to face him. "All sorts. Fellow criminals, parents of victims, the police. Actually, your brother's friend, that DI, he's called me. I was on my way when you got lucky and practically kidnapped me."

"My brother's DI?" Mycroft raised one nicely trimmed eyebrow, leaning back against his desk.

She nodded, slipping her hand into her pocket and fishing out a phone. She directed her attention to it for a moment before showing it to him. "Your brother, if I remember correctly. My first case and he looks like he's doing better. Doesn't remember me, barely notices I'm there. I bet he thinks I'm just some cop." Amelia shrugged one small shoulder, replacing the phone. "Care for a walk? I know you think they're dreadful, but I really shouldn't be late, and you're nice company on a good day."

He laughed a genuine expression just for her and nodded. "My lady, for you, the world."

She shook her head, knowing he was always a show-off with the girls, and started on her way towards the lift. Once inside, she let her hair fall from the small bun she had put it in, letting it fall in soft waves around her face. She still looked, to Mycroft, breakable. Although she wasn't a stick, she still gave off a rather passive appearance.

She was generic looking, when her hair was up. A normal person would guess her age would fit with that of a university student, but he knew she was just barely 18. Sure, she didn't tell people that, but he had gotten all files available. However, Amelia Smith was nearly nonexistent, and very common in her life. Average.

 _Perhaps,_  Mycroft reasoned,  _that's why she can infiltrate anywhere._  He would have loved to have her work with him in his office and with the government, but she made it clear the first time they met, she was better on her own.

"So," she said, looking up in the reflection to him, "why are you on his case? Because he's targeted Sherlock?"

He frowned down at her. "The DI tell you that?"

She smiled effortlessly. "Yeah, and I figured he would come up on  _your_  radar sooner or later. He's a big name, helps a lot of bad people." She turned to look at him, her brown eyes gazing into his blue ones. "Anyway, now that Sherlock's doing better, he's helping out the Yard. Very interesting. You suggest that to the DI?"

Mycroft shook his head, taking out his phone to let Sherlock know that he would be seeing him at Scotland Yard.

"It seems my brother found the DI on his own. How, I'm not going to disclose." His lips closed and he looked at her steadily, something that usually put anyone of his underlings quiet.

Amelia, though, grinned in response. "No, of course not. It doesn't matter, Mycroft. I was just trying to make small talk. I've forgotten you're not one for such pleasantries."

He smiled at her as they exited the elevator, and walked alongside her toward the Yard.

xxx

"What sort of person are you bringing along?" Sherlock stood over Lestrade, who simply kept his focus on his phone.

"She's kind of like a profiler, Sherlock," Lestrade repeated.

A noise was heard and Sherlock pulled his phone out of his pocket. "Oh, great! Now my brother's going to be here. Has something else happened? John, has something else happened?"

"Mycroft will be here? Why? No! I don't know if something else blew up," John said, looking up at his exasperated colleague.

Lestrade sighed, checking his computer for any new reports. Then a surprised look came across his expression. "Wait, did you say  _brother_?"

"Yes," came a voice from behind Sherlock. "Older brother, if we're being technical." The man attached to the voice tugged his jacket closer to him and rested his umbrella on his arm as he stepped to the side to allow a younger lady through.

"Mycroft, don't be posh and mean. It's not becoming," the girl chastised with a smile. She lifted her hand to wave at the two gentlemen in Lestrade's office. "Hello! I'm Amelia. I help out sometimes, when I'm in town and when Greg wants to see me." Her smile grew into a grin as Lestrade chuckled.

"Amelia, you always seem to make people so comfortable," Lestrade said, coming towards her with open arms. "You've even got a Holmes smiling. Bet that took effort." He winked after he pulled away from her hug.

She shrugged, elbowing Mycroft. "He's a nice lad when he wants to be, this one. Actually, if we could shut the door, I'll tell you what I've gathered on this Jim fellow." Her expression darkened, seeming out of place on her soft features.

Once extra chairs were brought in, and Amelia took a place next to Lestrade behind the desk, she opened up the file on Jim Moriarty. Lestrade had taken out a blurred photo of what was thought to be him, and Amelia frowned. Shaking her head, she bent down to her bag and took out a folder, opened it, and showed the gentlemen an artist's rendering of the Irish madman.

"His real name, or the earliest name he has been known by, is James McCanless. He stays with James, almost always. I haven't heard of him being called anything else, and very rarely by McCanless. It was a slip-up by some dead-beat who had worked briefly with him years back."

She took out a few sheets with hand-written reports.

"Greg knows I don't have records aside from written papers from memory, but I have a very good memory." Her eyes ghosted up to Sherlock who had huffed quietly before they landed back down. "Now, I haven't been able to get settled long enough to look up McCanless, but I guess that's what Lestrade is for, eh?" Again, she smiled at the gray-haired man.

He turned to his computer to power up the Yard's search engine.

"James McCanless was kidnapped at ten in 1986 right under the nose of his mother in Dublin. I remember; it was all over the news," said Mycroft, leaning closer to the clearer picture of Moriarty.

"It's still unsolved," added Lestrade, turning the monitor to show the rest.

"From what I've gathered, his kidnappers were able to keep a hold on him with threats for about a year and a half until he ran away. That's where he met that guy that let his name slip. When he ran, the gang – that's what the kidnappers were, a gang – killed the McCanless'."

Lestrade stopped her, "Look, he has one relative, a younger sister born in 1987, one Elizabeth McCanless, who moved to America to live in 2005."

Amelia glanced at the monitor before reaching down into bag and pulling out a notebook to write down the new information.

"This isn't a very big file," John said, making the others in the room realize he was there.

"It just seems that way," Mycroft brushed off, "she has absurdly small handwriting, and writes front and back."

She smiled up at John, still transcribing the information.

"Even with this information, what the hell are we going to do?"

Mycroft leaned back in his seat, his face turning dark as Amelia ripped the page out and put it in her folder. "Amelia infiltrates."

"Oh, no!" Greg said, turning around in his chair to look at her. "I didn't hire you to do any of that. You're a profiler, that's all."

She rolled her eyes, turning to face him completely. "I do more than that. I have many talents; you'd be surprised." Gathering her things, she plucked a card from her pocket and set in on his desk. "Call me if you need me. I  _must_  check into my hotel."


	2. Chapter 2 - Amelia

It was easy for Amelia to blend in, especially in a busy city like London. So, stepping out of nondescript hotel and walking towards Mycroft's office building, she knew that none of his CCTV cameras were on her. She looked like anyone else. Her long sleeves covered her arms tightly, loosely hanging everywhere else. Her long trousers, covering her common, black trainers were also loose in the legs and tight on the waist. Even her hair was nothing special, up in a pony-tail, short bangs covering her forehead. Her bag, the only thing of price, draped across her body, leather worn and, though it didn't look it, was big.

As she stepped into the lobby, she saw one of the many drivers Mycroft had his political hands on and smiled, slipping her hand into her pocket and showing him her ID. He nodded, and she walked towards the lift, pushing the correct floor correct floor button. Once it got to the floor that held Mycroft's office, she showed her ID once more, to an assistant.

"I'm Amelia, and you're a new face!" Her smile was genuinely friendly. "What's your name today? I know Mycroft advises his assistants to tell people different names." She tapped one side of her nose with her right index finger.

The woman, eyes only a bit wider, smiled back. "You can call me Kylie."

Amelia nodded and began to walk past. "I know he has a few guests in there. One of them called me over, so I'm just going to go on in. He'll know I'm here." She didn't turn around to talk to Kylie, because Amelia knew the young woman was following her. Knocking once, she opened the door to the three gentlemen she had seen a few days previous.

"Mycroft, dear, tell your friend here she's not in any trouble letting me in. I know she's a busy woman."

In response, the politician walked towards them with a smile beginning to pull at his lips.

"It's alright, Kylie. Amelia often does this when she's in town. Thinks she owns the place, the girl does." He waved her off, taking a piece of paper from Amelia when she walked past him.

Amelia's face lit up on Greg and set her bag on Mycroft's desk, hauling herself to sit on it like a proper teenager. "I've got word," she whispered, leaning toward John, "that your surgery is doing very well." She grinned at his astonished look.

Mycroft tutted at her, eyeing her as she sat on his desk. "It's no worries, Dr. Watson. She looks into everyone she works with. Bit of a bad habit of hers."

"And what," Sherlock said, looking at her with a tad bit of disdain, "does she know about you,  _brother_?"

Mycroft just waved his hand, and Amelia dug through her bag for her file of Moriarty. She gave it to him, slipping off the desk so he could sit behind it.

"These are very vague, Amelia," Mycroft said, lifting his eyes.

She frowned, a look that turned her whole being slightly somber. "They're facts, Myc."

Sherlock, with a roll of his eyes, repeated her, " _Myc_."

She flicked her eyes to him before letting them fall back to the detective's brother. "I mean, these are people on the streets. Most of them risked their lives telling me where they'd heard the name." Walking to the window, she absently took her hair down and pulled her fingers through it. "I couldn't do much else without getting into anything deeper than talking to shady characters."

"Amelia," Lestrade murmured, meeting her at the window, "I know you usually like infiltration, but this…this  _empire_  is too dangerous."

"And maybe you should let someone more experienced try," Sherlock added.

"Sherlock!" Greg warned, casting a glance his way.

Nodding, Amelia turned and flitted toward Mycroft. She smiled down at him, batting her eyelashes.

He pursed his lips, shaking his head. "I will  _not_  give you permission to go and penetrate whatever that man has created. Amelia, you are eighteen years old! Imagine what would happen if they found out what you were truly up to."

She scowled at him. "Mycroft, if I could get close – if I could work my way up to James, I could easily get into his head."

"Right," Sherlock scoffed, "you."

Her gaze finally landed on him and she stepped away from Mycroft. Her eyes were on Sherlock steadily, her body tense and rising to its full height. Her face, though, was what caught the men that knew her previous off guard.

It was a mixture of sweet calm and blinding anger. Her eyes seemed to have a shadow in them. Slowly, she licked her lips, a dangerous challenge it seemed, and she started to move forward as if she wasn't even thinking. With a foot between Amelia and Sherlock, her eyes caught his in a locking gaze.

He was frozen, and his mind and face seemed to be wiped from any thought. He was preparing to defend himself, in the safest way possible. It wasn't as if he wanted to  _hurt_  Amelia, but he would shove her off if need be. Sherlock knew it would take just a moment longer for any of the other men in the room to grab for her if she made a move, and he hoped she was just going to say something. He was caught a bit off guard, but he wouldn't tell anyone else that. No, Sherlock Holmes was  _not_  intimidated, but he was slightly entranced.

She cleared her throat suddenly, dropped her gaze, and rubbed her face before turning away with a smile.

"Oh, do forgive me! I haven't a clue what happened. Seemed a thought wanted to be spoken, but it went away just as quickly."

Sherlock released a breath behind her, and his legs seemed to want to buckle, but instead his weight fell back and he leaned against the wall.

"Sherlock," she said, a chipper tone lacing her features, "sorry, dear, you're okay, though, right?"

Grabbing her bag, she walked towards the door. "I've got to run. Ever so hungry. Meet you lot in about an hour. Ciao!"

As the door closed behind her, Mycroft rose from his chair to check on Sherlock.

Furiously, Sherlock swiped at his hands. "That-that-that  _girl_! That  _child_  is unbelievable." Then he stalked to sit down in a chair across from Mycroft's desk.

Greg took a deep breath. "I have never seen that expression on her face."

Mycroft shook his head. "No, me either. And I've known her for about three years." He bit the inside of his lip for a moment before settling down in his chair behind the desk and opening the files.

"It was like all the energy around was drained and focused into some sort of… I haven't got a clue what it could be," Greg said, running a hand through his hair.

"Well it's done now," Sherlock snapped, leaning back in a quiet huff.


	3. Action

Mycroft stood outside Scotland Yard with John Watson as a taxi pulled to a halt in front of them. He pulled a cigarette from his pocket and lit it, offering one to John who shook his head.

Amelia stepped from the cab, tipping the driver with a smile. “Gentlemen,” she greeted, taking out a prepaid phone from her pocket. “I called a friend of mine for help and he said he’d be happy to help us. He owes me a favor, and I thought he’d be perfect for this. He has plenty of skeletons in his closet that Moriarty can use against him.”

“But what exactly could he ask Moriarty for?” John said, following Amelia and Mycroft into the Yard.

“A way to get here from the States. He moved there a few years back, but got into a bit of a tiff with his now-ex-girlfriend, and I’ve been able to manipulate a few of Moriarty’s associates to contact him.”

Mycroft pulled out his phone and scrutinized Amelia. “What’s his name?”

Amelia rolled her eyes, glancing at his hands. “Kyle Montgomery, but honestly Mycroft, he’s an asset to my job and taught me everything I know now about infiltration. Plus, I doubt you’ll find any records on him.”

“What if these associates have heard of him?” Mycroft asked, looking down at her.

She pursed her lips, looking at him as if he had asked the most obvious question. “He uses aliases, plenty of them.”

“So Kyle isn’t his real name?” John questioned.

Amelia shrugged, smiling as she entered Lestrade’s office. “I don’t know, and since I’m in the minority about _me_ going in, I can only think to ask and send him. Anything, Greg?”

Lestrade shook his head. “No, but I want to type up all that you have on Moriarty, though, Am.”

Mycroft coughed eyes steady. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. If he has access to the government files, and it’s quite possible he does, the information is best safe in her hands. She’s an outside party.”

“Who has been _brought_ to the inside,” Lestrade countered.

“Who doesn’t let anyone really look at them and keeps them on her person at all times,” Amelia butted in, sitting down in the chair next to Sherlock, keeping her eyes on Lestrade.

Sherlock glanced at her, returning his attention back to his phone. “Your memory good, Amelia?”

She smiled and replied in the positive, reclining back in her chair. Her hair was bundled in braids at random, and her clothes were lazily big and draping across her figure, except her trainers, which were fit on her small feet and tied tightly.

“Are you feeling alright?” John asked Amelia, stepping in front of her.

She frowned, lifting her head to keep his gaze. “Yes, I’m fine. Why?”

“You’re flushed, and it’s chilly and rainy out.”

Her frown turned into a smile before waving at him. “Nah, I’m fine. I’m all bundled up; it’s just a bit of allergies from the cleaning supplies at the hotel.” Clearing her throat, she let her eyes follow Mycroft around the room as he paced for a moment. “Myc, that’s your ‘I’ve just thought of something’ stance.”

He chuckled a bit, nodding and coming to a stop. “Yes, it just occurred to me that your friend, this Kyle whoever could be of some use. With you.”

Lestrade cleared his throat with surprise. “With her? Why? Amelia can’t go in.”

“No, but she could. She’s already contacted some of Moriarty’s men for this Kyle fellow, but if she’s gotten to them, they’re not going to let her go. How’d you contact them?”

Amelia sighed softly, shrugging. “I was… I went to a couple of different people who were named by my contacts.”

“Against our word?” Lestrade demanded, loud enough for Amelia to bow her head like a scolded child.

“It was to get us started, Gregory. It’s not like I gave them a real name. I didn’t even use my proper name for the hotel.”

“Amelia,” Lestrade said tone tight, “I told you before, you’re a profiler. I don’t want you going in.”

Mycroft took a deep breath, obviously trying to calm the tension down. “Look, Detective Inspector, when I first met Amelia, she was 15. I thought she was just some out of luck girl, but word got around that I needed help and she helped me. Obviously, I hadn’t encouraged her, but she aided me anyway. Infiltration is her specialty. She’s a human tracking device. You may hire her for profiling, but she _can_ do more. We can use her friend, but they wouldn’t suspect Amelia.”

“I have many personas, Greg.”

“Won’t it be suspicious if you keep coming here or Mycroft’s?” John inquired, drawing attention to him.

“She has a prepaid phone, John,” Sherlock said, finally speaking. “Along with her personal one. It’s not odd if she uses her prepaid phone to have them contact her. Many shady businessmen have more than one phone. They’d see her as having experience.”

“I don’t like it,” declared Lestrade.

“You’re outnumbered, Greg,” Amelia said with a grin. “Now, how about I use Katrina Jones, the drug addict? She’s quiet, but knows her way around the streets. She’s a dealer, and well off. The only reason she still deals is because she likes the danger, and she can’t really get out of the life she built.”

“Established, I see,” murmured Sherlock disdainfully.

“Had an employer with an addict wife,” she informed him, crossing her legs primly, lie falling out easy for Mycroft’s sake.

Of course Sherlock wouldn’t remember Katrina. He had been so strung out, he hardly recognized himself in the mirror when Mycroft and Amelia hauled him to a hotel bathroom to wash his face and arms. She hadn’t stayed long, but it was enough to let her see the danger in the Holmes brothers -- Mycroft a man of power and Sherlock of physical strength. After that, Amelia had kept out of London most of the time to keep from Mycroft.

Greg exhaled noisily. “I don’t like it,” he repeated. “But I’ll help set you up, give you essentials. Let’s get started.”

“May the games begin,” she announced.

John and Mycroft were the only ones to notice how her statement sounded much like Sherlock when receiving he received a case.


	4. Setting Base

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a short thing. Filler, mostly.
> 
> Getting to know Amelia and her surroundings which is what I tried to do here.
> 
> The boys show up to take a look around the flat, and basically, you can study how they work.

Amelia’s belongings were unpacked as soon as Lestrade had them delivered to her at her rented flat on Hugh St. She smiled and gave each of the movers a large tip and set about looking at Mycroft’s gifts for the flat.

Once he and Lestrade had found a place relatively close of the Yard, but still discreet, he had Anthea put a ‘special touch’ to make Amelia comfortable. He had had it painted, gifted her furniture, and paid three months advance.

She had seen the pictures before Mycroft redecorated it, and was glad that he took it upon himself to change the bright, loud colors to a more subdued hue that would ease any nerves that were to arise. As she set her technology up in her spacious bedroom, she knew that, as footsteps were echoing through the still open door, the team she was working with arrived to greet her.

“Amelia?” Mycroft’s voice called, his quiet steps following her into her room. “Have you decided what to use the second bedroom for?”

She nodded, fixing the last wire into place and turned, making sure her room was fine before smiling brightly at him. “I was thinking of turning it into a sort of office. I don’t have guests so it needn’t be a second bedroom.”

He nodded once before turning to glance down the hallway. Stepping in, he shut the door and set his umbrella against the wall.

Amelia frowned, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. “I don’t like that look, Mycroft. What’s happened?”

“Moriarty contacted Sherlock again. He said that he knew Sherlock was still working with the police.”

She leaned back against the desk. “That’s nothing new.”

“He also said that he knew he had contacted me for help, and that he had ways to make him stop.”

For a moment, Amelia didn’t understand why he was explaining this. As another moment passed, she saw the strong government official she knew slump a fraction, his eyes low. She took the couple of steps to him and made him look her in the eyes.

“It’s fine to be scared, Mycroft. It’s not fine to show that to Sherlock. I fear if you do, he might lose a little more to himself to Moriarty. That’s why I’m here to help. To make sure that you lot stay normal to yourselves.”

His slump settled more, a hand slipping into his coat pocket.

“Amelia—”

“I know,” her sharp tone cut him off, making his eyes widen. For a moment, they stood there, her frustration clear, his unhappiness barely hidden. She took a deep breath, gathered herself, and smiled. “Come on, I’m sure they’re wondering what you’re up to.”

As she opened the door, she saw a picture hanging on the wall that hadn’t been there before. She glanced at Mycroft, then down towards the kitchen. Everyone was still in the sitting room.

“Lestrade, did you put a painting up?” She questioned, walking towards the three other men. When all of them shook their heads, Amelia turned, her eyes narrowed.

“Amelia?”

“Hush now, Mycroft. Someone put up that painting and not even boy genius noticed. I’ve checked the whole flat; I’ve been in it all day. So who put it up?”

John’s hand went to his back to grab his gun, but when Amelia turned around with a quick shake of her head, he lowered himself to the couch once more.

She was already at the entry of the hallway, her breath still and quiet. Once she reached the painting, she realized it wasn’t a painting at all. It was a poem. The poem’s background was an array of haunting blues, and the writing of the words was bold and white, glaring against their backdrop. As much as Amelia enjoyed Dickenson, she acknowledged for what it was, clear as day, a warning.

A ringing in her pocket drew her eyes to her hands as she accepted the call.

“Do you like my painting?”

She almost threw the phone in frustration as she recognized the voice. “ _Kyle_. Where are you?”

The door behind her opened, revealing the taller man, smiling. “Call off your dogs, Amelia. I’d rather not get shot.”

She turned back to the men and shook her head. “It’s the man I was telling you about earlier.” Her lips pressed together when she turned back to him. “I thought you were still in America.”

He waved her off, stepping into the hallway and closing the empty second room off. “Someone called Toby phoned me, telling me to get on the earliest plane. So I did.”

“Why the hell did you come here?”

“Where else was I to go, Amelia? They haven’t set me up a place, yet. I’m a sitting duck, and they already know we know each other. Who’re these?” He turned from her to face the four men in her sitting room, ignoring the glare she sent his way.

“None of your concern, Kyle, but they aren’t my dogs.”

Kyle grinned at them, glancing at her over his shoulder. “You always have a guard dog somewhere, Amelia. I’m not stupid. I know I taught you that.”

Pressing her lips into a thin line, she turned on her heel towards the kitchen. “Tea?”

Lestrade decided to follow her, giving Kyle a deliberate once over and clear warning in his look. As Kyle moved out of the way for the DI, he wasn’t able to cover up a gun on a holster. Lestrade pushed him against the wall, not giving him a chance to recuperate, and took the gun.

“Amelia, come look at what your _friend_ has.”

She gave a small chuckle, turning away from her kettle to glance at Lestrade’s hard look and Mycroft’s hands on his phone. “It’s a WALTHER CP88, caliber of .177, exported straight from Germany. Custom made, it looks. New one?”

Kyle nodded once, hands up, eyes fixed on Lestrade’s.

“Ames, I don’t think he’s happy with me.”

Amelia set a tray on the counter with five tea cups before coming to stand next to Lestrade. Taking the gun, she looked it over twice before handing it back to its owner. “I imagine that you sneaking in, placing up a painting, and then having gun doesn’t sit well with someone from New Scotland Yard.”

Lestrade, frowning took a step back. “Amelia doesn’t even have a gun.”

“She has a taser,” Sherlock said, holding up a lipstick.

“Sherlock,” John started.

He pulled the top off the lipstick and showed it to John. “And I’m sure she has more than this one.” Sherlock’s eyes trained on hers, raising an eyebrow.

Not fazed, Amelia shrugged. “Yeah, actually, but not all of them look like lipstick.” Her grin set Mycroft off kilter, not ever seeing quite a dangerous look on her face.

For a moment, he wondered what had happened in the few years she’s been out of London to have given her such a look. The younger Amelia he had known wasn’t capable of even _sounding_ threatening. Glancing at Lestrade, he saw that the DI also had the same thoughts.

“I’ll fix the tea. I’m sure Mycroft wants to get down to business by now.”


	5. Mutual Acquaintances

“John, did you notice that most of Amelia’s things were bought recently?” Sherlock asked, glancing at his flat mate from the sofa he was lain on. Oddly, he was completely dressed and reclined even at the early hour. One arm dangled to the floor, his phone in it, the other spread across his chest.

“Mycroft bought them; he told you, Sherlock.”

Sherlock shot up, posture straight, leaning forward, and continued. “He bought the furniture, yes, but the other things that she should have had already. Her clothes, things for the kitchen, even her computer and the rest of her technology. 90% of all of that is a month new. Lestrade contacted her three weeks previous.”

John took a breath, setting down the mug his coffee was in. “Sherlock, are you saying that Moriarty had a hand in who Lestrade contacted?”

Sherlock’s fingers scratched his cheeks for a moment, and he shook his head. “Maybe not him, but someone working for him.”

“What do you see when you look at her?”

Sherlock’s lips pressed together, his eyes following John’s telltale signs of his life. “It’s like that woman all over again.” He was going to say something else, but a knock at the door stopped both he and John.

It was early, too early for Mycroft, and Lestrade would call. Mrs. Hudson was still asleep. John got up, Sherlock went to the window, and as a voice carried up the staircase, he wanted to throw something. Of course it would be her.

“I’m sorry, Sherlock, John.” Amelia stood in the doorway, her index and thumb finger of her right hand holding her left index finger in front of her, arms low. “It’s early, I know, but I had to get up before they did. Unfortunately, Moriarty has gotten some sort of alert in my flat already.”

“He’s not supposed to know about you,” John said, alarm already crossing his features.

“Wrong. He’s not know I’m working with you lot. Not that I don’t exist. I’m Katrina Jones, remember? He’s already got someone called Sebastian meeting me soon. I came by to ask if you’d tell Lestrade and Mycroft not to come by or communicate with me just right now.”

Sherlock shook his head, turning away. “Mycroft will find that unacceptable.”

Amelia grinned, looking over at John. “I’m aware, but he’ll have to. For now, at least. Sebastian is settled somewhere very close to me. I daresay he’s on the same street, but he hasn’t come to visit me.”

“How did you get to Moriarty so quickly?” John asked, sitting down where he had been.

“His words were ‘I need a new girl.’ As tasteless as it is, I had to go along with it. I’m just a dealer right now, and he likes to order quite a bit.”

Sherlock turned, eyes narrowed. “Has he come to see you personally?”

She shook her head, reaching into her pocket and took out her prepaid phone. “I haven’t even heard his real voice. Some sort of voice changer so far. I could only sneak here because Sebastian is meeting me in Croydon. I know he’s already there, and waiting.”

“What does he order?”

“A couple of benzodiazepine injections, which will be at my place in a couple of hours.”

“Do you know if he has a nurse or if he injects himself?”

“I imagine that’ll be the question I’m going to ask Sebastian. Anyway, I’ve got to go. If you’d relay the information to Mycroft and Lestrade, I’d be grateful.” Amelia turned to leave, but paused and gave them a small smile. “Gentlemen.” She nodded once, and then her footsteps were soft as she dismissed herself.

“Sherlock, what do you think of that?”

“I believe every word.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Relay her message, of course. I’ll be in my room.” He left John, and shut his door quietly as he texted both Lestrade and Mycroft. Taking out Irene Adler’s phone, he called her new number. “You know Amelia Smith. I need all that you can give me.”

***

Amelia’s hair was wrapped in a towel, her robe tied loosely around her pajama bottoms and too-big t-shirt. She wasn’t surprised that there was a knock on her door, or who was behind it. After the call she received at half noon, she expected he’d turn up.

“Come in, Sherlock.” She was sat at her small table in the sitting room, boxes stacked up and names scrawled out.

“You got into contact with Moriarty not because of my brother or Lestrade, but Irene Adler.”

She looked away from her screen, towards Sherlock who leaned against the door.

“You’ve met her; you should know she can do her own work. I know Irene in different ways, and I don’t work for her. I refuse to. She’s hell to anyone under her – pardon the pun.” Her left hand scrawled something on the paper next to her, in something akin to Hebrew. “No, I knew Lestrade needed help with Moriarty, and I’ve been trying to find him. I needed extra help, a place for base, and intelligence. I had Lestrade contact me, and once he and Mycroft set me up, I wasted no time going in.”

Sherlock didn’t look like he believed her. “And Irene?”

She shrugged once, pulling on the towel on her head. “Friend of the family’s. Loosely put, of course. Irene is something of an aunt. An awful aunt, but one all the same. I know who I need to be for Moriarty to let me in, and as you know, she is a master manipulator.”

He sat down across from her, making no way out if she were to get up. “Then it’s genetic. So are you.”

She laughed – actually _laughed_ – and shook her head, eyes twinkling. “Me? A manipulator? I’m cunning, sure, but deceitful to people I’m working with to catch a murdering bastard? Really, Sherlock, what’s happened in your life that you can’t trust anyone? Or is it just women?” She raised her hands, palms showing. “That was rude, I’m sorry, but if you think I’m trying to manipulate you – you wouldn’t still be here. Maybe I have ulterior motives than playing a game or solving a puzzle, but I want Moriarty.”

He was still glaring at her as she lowered her hands to her laptop. She turned the screen around and on it was Moriarty and another man, arms on each other’s shoulders, smiling into the camera.

“I got this of them. They asked me to, and to do a bit of photo-shopping, wanted me to make it look like they were out of the country. For now, I’ll oblige. Tomorrow, at eight on the dot, I’m to meet Sebastian there with Moriarty’s orders and he’ll take me to Moriarty. Where I’ll be staying for a week. I’ve already told your brother, but I can’t get to Lestrade as of now.”

Sherlock was too busy analyzing everything about the new addition.

“I’m to be his nurse, but I made sure he knew I was unavailable.”

Distantly, Sherlock inquired how.

“Easy, I told him I preferred women. Thankfully, he bought it.”

“Manipulator,” Sherlock repeated, glancing at her.

“Maybe it’s true.”

“Unlikely,” he retorted, shutting the laptop, “you’re not interested in anyone.”

“Pot-kettle, Mr. Holmes.” She was already writing something on paper when he pressed his lips tight.

“Let my aunt know for me,” she added, slipping out a piece of paper from under her pad. “If you see her, do give her that.” When he didn’t say anything, she looked at him again and switched her pen to her right hand. “It’s not a language used by any group of people.”

“Except your family–?” He stopped to glance at his phone. Rolling his eyes, he ended the call.

“I’m going to have a long day tomorrow, Sherlock. If you would, I’d like to turn in.”

Grinning dangerously, he nodded. “I’ll use the couch.”

She took a deep breath. “I know when I’m defeated. Lock the door.” Standing, Amelia took her laptop and pad with her as she retreated away from him. If she hadn’t known Mycroft and experienced Sherlock years earlier, she’d have argued. As it were, she knew there was no reasoning with a Holmes. She would’ve been frustrated if her own family wasn’t the same way.


End file.
